


Dies Irae

by Blanquette



Series: Stopping time [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:50:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanquette/pseuds/Blanquette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky died, Steve is bringing him back. Sleep and Dream will help. Death won't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleep

They found Sleep first.

The seer had say -

_don't look at him directly_

_look a bit to the left_

_you'll see him shift in and out of existence_

\- and so they did.

Sleep was laying on a bed made of cushions, lazily dragging over his lips an intricate opium pipe, inhaling the smoke with eyes closed. He was decked in a white tunic, draped over his body and held with a large belt made of golden fabric. Near the pipe, a small child was sleeping, wrapped in a black _burnous_ , and Sleep was periodically running a hand through his curls.

When they had got here, the owner of the opium den had eyed them warily, and money had to change hands before they were allowed to enter. They had followed him down a narrow staircase, and through a vast room where large pieces of fabric hanged from the ceiling to create small rooms where people could disappear for a while. At the far-end the owner had left them, throwing a curt nod to the body laying there, in the last room.

The child stirred slightly at their entrance, and Sleep's hand stopped moving abruptly. He opened one eye, then the other, and sat-up slightly, rearranging his tunic, his dark skin a stark contrast against the white of the fabric. He didn't say anything while crossing his legs underneath him, laying the pipe on his thighs. Steve talked, then.

-We are looking for your kin.

Sleep laugh a joyous laugh, and shook the sleeping child until he was wide awake and disentangling himself from his cape.

-Do you hear that, Dream? They're looking for Death.

The child looked at them with round eyes and turned to his elder, incredulity showing on his face. He raised his hands then, and signed something that made Sleep laugh again.

-I know.

After that, the child crawled on the space Sleep had vacated on the cushions and curled-up again, clothing his eyes, his breathing evening out immediately. Sleep covered him with a scarlet cape that laid abandoned at the foot of the cushion bed and lovingly patted the child's hair. Only then did he answer his guests.

-What do you want with Death? They won't talk to you. They don't deal with living things, it is not their realm.

-We need... We need to bring back someone.

-Oh? Why?

-I need to.

-Do you love them?

-Yes.

-Why?

-I don't know, I just do.

Sleep took back his pipe then, humming to himself as he raised it to his mouth.

-No, it won't do. You can't bring back someone just because you love them. You are not a child. It is as it should be. Living things die and there's nothing you can do about it.

Steve felt something sink inside him. But Natasha grabbed his hand then, squeezing slightly, and it spurred him forward.

-I need more time...

-Time! Of course!

Sleep was excitedly pointing at him with his pipe, and he had started to shook the child again, who grumbled but still opened his eyes, and proceeded to attached himself to the side of Sleep, resting his head on his shoulder. He was wearing a sleeveless vest underneath his _burnous_ , a white vest embroidered with silver threads.

-Dream, it's them. You know. You forgot? The clock. Yes!

Dream laughed a soundless laugh then, and hid his face in the folds of the white tunic.

-Dream likes you. Maybe I will help.

-Why?

-It was funny, what you did, keeping Time at bay. He cannot see you when the clock is working. That was clever. And if Time cannot see you, Death cannot get to you. Didn't you feel their clammy fingers clawing at your back? Time didn't know, but Death was angry. And Dream likes it when Death is angry.

Steve looked at the blur on the edge of his vision and it stabilized itself into a child peeking at him from the folds of a white cloth, a shy smile tugging at his lips. The child was as beautiful as Sleep, piercing eyes of changing colors scrutinizing him, black skin shimmering under the subdued flames of the oil lamps.

The child moved slightly and signed something at Sleep, who nodded and turned towards them.

-We will help. But you know, he _is_ gone. There is no way to bring him back just as he was. Death doesn't give back what they take. Dream says Life could make him, well, _alive_ again, but he would have no...

Sleep made a vague gesture then, seemingly searching for words.

-You living things call it _soul_. This is what Death takes, when Time stops providing for you, and Life stops caring for you. And then you put empty bodies into the ground.

-What do I need to do, then?

-You can share yours.

-What?

Dream was gripping Sleep's arm, looking at them with a curious expression, his eyes turning to green then blue again, then black as ink before settling on the purple color of the sky before a storm. He seemed really old, suddenly, not a child at all, but a man, then a dying elder, and then a child again. Steve averted his eyes and he became a blur on the edge of his vision.

-It is dangerous, but it can be done. Of course, you wouldn't live as long, but at least you would be together. That's what you want, isn't it?

Steve nodded, Natasha still firmly gripping his hand. She hadn't said anything, it was Steve's decision to make. Sleep smiled and stood-up, taller than Steve would have thought. He draped himself in the scarlet cape he had given Dream earlier, and slipped in his belt and ornamented dagger he had retrieved from between the cushions.

-Let us go then, we have work to do.


	2. Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep rallies Life to Steve's cause.

They found Life next.

Sleep had said -

_life knows everything_

_don't talk unless asked to_

_or you will be playing with fire_

-and so they did.

They had followed Sleep out of the Opium Den, Dream in tow. He had given his hand to Natasha, and she had felt like she was holding wind in her palm.

They didn't went far, to a small park next to an elementary school full of screaming children. The park had a small lake. Facing the lake was a bench, and on the bench was an old man, throwing frozen peas to the ducks. When Sleep sited himself on the bench, it was next to a little girl of about Dream's age, but when she opened her mouth, she was an old crone, folded on herself.

-Long time no see, Sleep. Bored again?

She spoke with a deep voice, like a man's. Steve and Natasha stayed back, Dream crouched at their feet, meticulously ripping out grass while stifling never-ending yawns.

-I found a new game to play.

The woman looked at Sleep's blinding smile and the young man who turned away was deeply unimpressed.

-Do you remember what happened the last time you meddled with living things?

-It is different now, Life. It is for a good cause.

-Which one?

-Love! Is there a better cause than this?

-You don't even know what love is.

-I imagine. You said it's what drives them.

The young man side-eyed Sleep before turning his interest on Steve and Natasha, who had joined Dream on the ground.

-I know this man. He hid himself from us for some time.

-Yes. It was brilliant, wasn't it?

-Is that why you want to help him? He amuses you?

-Dream likes him.

-And you like Dream.

-See, I know what love is.

Life sighed. Sleep was right in a way. They had been bored, and it had been interesting, watching this man struggle against fatality. They let their head fall back, looking up at the sky, at the clouds drifting quietly, at the tree sharing its shadow with them. It was a beautiful day.

-It is another thing to get involved. Death won't be happy.

-Death is never happy. It's kind of the point.

This made Life smile. Sleep was unruly. So Death despised him and he hated Death, even though they were so similar.

-He doesn't know I will have to take life from somewhere. You didn't tell him.

-No.

-It will tip-off Death. It is his prerogative after all.

-I know.

Life seemed to think for a while, and then it was a little kid who was pointing at a man and his dog, walking near the lake.

-Should I take from him? He lives alone, but his dog will miss him. He will be put-down too, no one to take care of him. Or one of those kids maybe?

They were looking at two kids running around, playing tag while their mother looked on from a bench.

-The small one will go soon anyway, hit by a car on his way home from school. Or this old man? His family would be relieved.

Life settled his gaze on Steve and Natasha, still sited next to Dream in the grass.

-Or maybe I should take his friend. She's had a hard life, she could welcome an escape. What do you think I should do, Sleep?

-Can't you take a few year here and there? No one will notice.

Life laughed then, the throaty laugh of a large woman, and crossed her hands on her stomach.

-It's not how it works, but I will think of something.

-So you are helping?

-I wonder where all this will go.

-Do you want to talk with him?

-No. I already know him, and I'm not interested.

Sleep nodded and stood-up, ready to go, but Life stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

-What are you going to do about the... You know. The soul?

-It's already taken care of. He will be giving half of his.

Life reclined on the bench, a thoughtful look on their face.

-Is this really going to work?

-In Dream's realm, it will.

Sleep sat down again, as Life hummed to themselves, and a faraway smile spread on their lips.

-It's poetic in a sense. They will be real _soulmates_.

This gave Sleep pause, and he looked at Steve's hunched form, still sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Dream.

-Does it really exists? What they call soulmates?

-Living things are afraid of loneliness. So they make-up stories to make themselves feel better. Soulmates, gods, red strings of fate tied around ankles...

-So none of it is real?

Life was a young woman then, young and beautiful, all milky skin and green eyes.

-Have you ever met gods?

-There is no gods. There is only us.

-And yet you can feel their presence in their churches and temples, their energy in prayers and rituals, you know their names and you know their stories.

Sleep kept silence, seemingly lost in thoughts. Life had resumed throwing peas to ducks.

-Their realness is not what matters. If you need them to be, they are, if not, they aren't. I think it is the same with soulmates. Your friend here certainly thinks that he can't live without a specific person. And in his own way, he's probably right.

-Because he decided that he was?

Life smiled, and he was an old man again, old and withered, fervently knocking on Death's door. Sleep stood-up, straigthening his clothes and making his way towards Steve. He looked back one last time.

-Life?

-Yes?

-Why are you throwing frozen peas at ducks?

-Bread makes them sick.


	3. Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is still dead, so Steve's enter Dream's realm and gets him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a bit on the disgusting side of things.

Sleep asked Steve to lay down and close his eyes.

And then, he kissed him.

They had needed a secluded place so Steve had taken them to the old apartment he had shared with Bucky, in a decrepit building where the only other tenant was an old deaf woman. Then they had waited for Life. They had waited for a long time, and it was way past midnight when a knock on the door had made Steve jump. Life had came in as an old lady. They were followed by a huge man. The old lady, Life, had pointed at him over their shoulder, while making their way inside the kitchen where they were all waiting.

-Envy wanted to come. You know how he doesn't like anything happening without him.

Envy had grunted from the hallway, disappearing out immediately.

-I am glad he came, because stealing corpses is way more difficult than it looks.

-What?!

Life's unimpressed stare had settled on Steve.

-Corpse. Your lover's corpse. We need it.

Steve had opened his mouth but couldn't say anything. Envy had come back, dragging behind him a large object shrouded in a white cloth. A foul odor invaded the room as soon as he came in, and Steve had gagged, grabbing onto Natasha. She had sunk to the floor, both hands clasped over her mouth. Sleep had patted Steve on the shoulder, putting on a reassuring smile.

-Don't worry. We will get him as good as new.

Life had disapprovingly shook their head and helped Envy carry the corpse to the bedroom, displaying an unexpected amount of force for such a small creature. Once they had disappeared through the door, Natasha had gotten back on her legs and looked at Steve with concerned eyes.

-Steve, I'm not sure about this...

-It's too late now.

Sleep had cut her off, pushing Steve towards the bedroom.

Inside, Life and Envy had put Bucky's corpse on the bed, and covered him with the white cloth. Only his hand had been visible, and Steve had done all he could not to look at it. The smell was unbearable.

-You have to lay down, and take his hand. Then close your eyes.

He had done what he was told. Shivers had run up and down his body when he had grasped Bucky's dead hand in his. It was cold and clammy, the skin floating on the fingers. It felt like he could have slip it off like a glove. He had gagged, again, and had had to force himself to stay still, skin crawling.

Then, Sleep had kissed him, and all went black.

 

-You didn't really have to kiss him.

-It felt appropriate. More dramatic. I don't know.

Steve recognized Sleep's voice, but not the other one. He opened his eyes and looked at them. Sleep was bickering with a youthful looking man, and Steve realized it was Dream.

-You're talking.

-How course I am. You're in my realm now. I can do anything.

Steve looked around. He was still in his room, but something was off. It was bigger, or smaller, not square enough. It was nighttime and yet, blue rays of light swept through too many windows and fell on his skin. Sleep wasn't there anymore but the room felt crowded, and empty, and suffocating but way too big. His head hurt. He fell back on the pillow and that's when he noticed Bucky next to him. Bucky like he had been when he was alive, with warm skin and blood in his cheeks and cracked lips and shiny hair and he touched him, but as soon as he did, he was a corpse with the flesh melted off, a skull with maggots crawling in its eyes. 

Steve screamed.

And then he wasn't in his bed anymore.

It was night, and he was laying naked on the ground. There was a big fire on his right, and on his left, Bucky. He didn't look at him. Someone was singing in a language he didn't recognize. Soon he heard footsteps and a woman crouched next to him, washing her hands in a basin. He wanted to talk but no sounds came out, and then she was running a wet cloth over his body, washing him while psalming under her breath. The singing increased, now several voices instead of one, and he saw people closing in on the edges, swaying gently on an erratic rhythm, but he couldn't make out any faces. The woman was washing Bucky then, and he knew it was Life, or one of their incarnations. Just as he recognized her, she disappeared.

And Dream was towering over him. The roaring fire casted moving shadows on his face, and he wasn't a child anymore, he was old, so old, in his eyes Steve could see Empires rise and fall, thousand of wars being waged, millions of people living and dying and Dream was still there, unchanged. The sky over them was purple, and thunder was roaring in the distance, like Steve wished it had been the day Bucky was put into the ground. Dream was smiling. and then he plunged his hand in the fire, and Steve closed his eyes.

He was nineteen again, nineteen and sick, in a hospital bed because his heart had taken a vacation and he had been dead for a while, but now Bucky was screaming in his good ear and all was well. He had said, shut up, I only have the one ear, and Bucky had laughed and kissed him, and it was good. He had always been the one supposed to die first. He wanted to look at Bucky's face, feel his warmth and his softness, but something was gleaming in his eyes and he couldn't see anything anymore.

Dream had retrieved a blade from the fire. His burnt flesh oozed on the bright metal of the handle-less knife but he didn't seem to suffer. The light reflecting from it was blinding. He put it down near Steve's head, and touched his face gently, fingers no longer burning.

-It will start now.

The chanting was all he could hear. Life was there again, and they smiled, lifted the blade, and started to cut into his body.

They got rid of the blood first, cutting his throat, his wrists, the inside of his thigh where they would find the artery. Blood sunk into the earth beneath him, and he felt weak, so weak. But there was no pain, and his mind was at peace.

When the earth was riddled with rills of blood and his body was empty, Life started to work on his insides.

It was all very methodical, like an autopsy. The knife would cut through muscle and bone as if they were made of water. Life got his ribcage open and cut out his heart first. They weighted it in their hands, still beating, and put it on Bucky's torso. They did the same with every organ. Heart on heart, liver on liver, lungs, stomach, guts. Steve looked on with a curiously detached feeling, as if he was watching it happening to someone else. Then Life put down the knife and looked softly at him.

-This one might hurt a bit.

And they bashed his head in with a rock.

At first Steve didn't recognize the house. But then people started pouring out the doors and he remembered what day it was. Again, the weather had been too beautiful for such sadness, but he had thought that, yes, maybe she would have liked it. He remembered how his legs had betrayed him then, and Bucky had had to almost carry him to the car, for the procession that would take them to the cemetery. The weather had been too beautiful for such sadness.

He got in the car but it was going way too fast on a seaside road, and Bucky was laughing while he was screaming and holding onto the dashboard. They were sixteen, Bucky had just gotten his license, and they had gone for a road-trip. Steve knew what would happen then. A dog would appear in the middle of the road, Bucky would swerve to avoid it and crash the car in a nearby tree. Luckily no one would get hurt except for a few bruises, and Bucky would cry and then laugh, and he would hug Steve and tell him he loved him. Steve smiled, it had been one of the best days of his life.

Bucky grabbed his wrist then, but it wasn't loving nor gentle, it was desperate and pleading, don't go, please, and Steve looked him in the eyes and they had grown tired and wary, and he had ripped his arm from Bucky's grip, and Bucky had spoken but it wasn't his voice it was - the doctor's - saying, cancer was growing in the marrow of his bones and it was - too late - too late, and then Bucky had died.

Steve was alone, alone, alone, and something was clawing at him-

He opened his eyes-

And-

Dream was washing his hands in the basin, and he smiled when Steve opened his eyes.

-It is almost done, look.

Steve turned his head and Life was there again, crouching near the dead body laying on the soaked earth. The organs they had put on the torso had been pushed aside and they were opening it then, cracking the ribcage open with bare hands. Life almost fell back when myriads of black flies bursted out of the corpse, huge and gleaming in the firelight, but they kept digging, pulling out full hands of black rot, of putrid flesh crawling with maggots. Once the chest cavity was empty, they took the organs they had taken from Steve and put them inside, one by one, arranging them as they should be. The bones where forced back in place, as was the skin that had been peeled back. And then the corpse was buried again, covered with blood-soaked earth, and it was done.

Steve knelt in front of the earth mound, unconcerned by the gaping hole in his chest. Something was crawling out of it, clawing desperately at the flaps of skin hanging down his sides, and when it fell, Steve crushed it under his naked feet. He was done with grief.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and it was Dream, smiling softly at him.

-You have to go now. If you stay too long, you will never be able to leave.

-It is done?

-It is done.

-It was easy.

Dream tilted his head with an amused look in his eyes.

-You think so? Maybe it was. But he possesses half of you now. You don't know how it is, to share something so profound with someone else.

-Do you?

-Last time, we...

-Last time?

-No matter. Sleep will wake you.

-What should I do now?

-I don't know. It is not my concern. This is Sleep's game. Goodbye.

 

When Steve opened his eyes, the ceiling remained unchanged above his head, and it was morning. He was still clasping Bucky's hand is his, but it wasn't cold anymore, and when he looked at him, someone had yanked the shroud off him. His chest was raising and falling on an even rhythm, and Steve felt so overwhelmed he had to bite into his arm to keep himself grounded.

-You're awake.

It was Sleep, sited next to the bed on a chair he had dragged from the kitchen. Dream and Envy were nowhere to be seen. Natasha was curled up on the floor, sleeping.

-It's... he...

-Yes. He will sleep for a long time now. But then, he will wake-up.

-Will he remember...?

-I don't know.

Steve nodded, and stayed put, not ready to move yet. He didn't look at Bucky neither, just kept his warm hand held tightly in his.

-What... What will happen now?

-Now? Now, well. You stole from them, so Death is coming.


	4. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is left alone to deal with Bucky, who doesn't wake-up.  
> And then he does, and Death comes.
> 
> (not a death fic!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there anyone even waiting for this anymore? I took my damn time, but there it is, the fabled last chapter. Oh my. So cheesy.

At first, Bucky didn't wake-up, and Death didn't come.

So Steve would just stay there, at the foot of Bucky's bed, watching his breast rise and fall, curling his fingers around an emaciated wrist, chasing brown hair out of closed eyes. He would curl up against him at night, and sometimes he would meet him in dreams. But it was always somewhere from the past, something they had already lived, never anything new. He would say and do the same things, over and over again, never changing. And the pain would grow in Steve's chest, pushing against his bones, crushing his lungs in its black arms, until he couldn't breath anymore and would wake-up with a scream dying on his lips.

So Steve tried to reach out to one of them again. Dream or Sleep or Life, even Envy, even Death, who would have been almost welcomed at this point. But they were nowhere to be found. And everyday was exactly the same.

Until it was not. Change came when winter engulfed them, reaching inside their nest with arms of cold winds and brittle snow. It came in a dream.

Steve knew he was dreaming when he recognized the place. It was that vast expenditure of dried earth, laid out under a sky of purple ink where the sun never shined. They had buried Bucky there, buried him so that life would come back to him. Steve was sited on the ground, looking at the faraway mountains, a cold breeze ruffling his hair. Before him was a pile of bones. Smashed, brittle, graying bones, both human and animal, stacked haphazardly upon one another. Something was rummaging in the pile, and when Steve looked down, a black snake was slithering from underneath the stack, his tongue darting. His movements disturbed the smallest bones and they fell in a small rattling. The snake's black scales were glistening in the moonlight, and Steve almost felt like touching it.

-Did you know snakes' eyes are eternally closed?

Steve turned in the direction of the voice. A man was sited next to him, crossed-legged, body reclining back on his hands. He talked in a lazy drawl and his voice was coarse, as if he didn't use it very often. Steve had troubles focusing on his features.

-They have a clear layer of skin over their eyes. Just like a transparent scale. It's called a spectacle. Or a brille. It's German for glasses.

The man leaned forward and reached out for the black snake, who circled around his arm, up, up, before disappearing in his clothes. The man shivered for a second, and resumed his former position, hands on the ground.

-I always thought it was a good metaphor for how most people live their life.

-It's a cheap one.

The man laughed. Steve's voice sounded bleak, almost foreign to his own ears. His eyes were back on the pile of bones.

-I get why my brother likes you. At least, I think I do.

Steve looked at the man again. His eyelids felt heavy, as if he was about to fall asleep. But he forced his eyes to focus, staring intently at him until the blur that was his face started to take shape. Steve expected him to be the polar opposite of Sleep, but he was just a bit to the left of him. Like an imprint in negative. Death looked up at Steve and smiled at him, a strange, almost affectionate smile.

-I won't let him wake-up, you know. I won't. I watched you, and I watched them, and you had so much hope. But I won't let him wake-up.

He shifted a bit on the dry earth, straightening his back, wiping his hands on his knees.

- _I sit beneath the staircase built from hair and bones..._ Do you know it? This poem?

He sighed when Steve shook his head.

-It's true, you know. It's not so terrible.

Steve wanted to speak but his voice was gone, like it often is in dreams. He was sure that if he stood up now, if he stood up and tried to run to the mountains, his feet would thread on nothingness and he would stay in place. So he stopped looking at Death and his eyes fell on the pile of bones. There was a skull looking at him, a cracked skull, forever grinning. It's true. It didn't look so terrible. But something wasn't right. So he got up, and turned the skull around.

-We need more time. It's not the end yet.

Death laughed again, and stood up. He too was taller than expected, a head or so more than Steve. Boyish short hair and youthful big eyes. He took the skull from Steve and set it atop the pile, facing them.

-But, you see, that is not something you get to decide.

Steve wanted to argue, but the ground wasn't solid anymore, and he fell through it, he fell, fell, fell... kept on falling until a hand reached out to him, and pulled him awake.

-What did he say to you?

It was Sleep, and Steve was back in his room, laying on his bed, and a child was sited on his thighs, firmly grasping his hand. Dream.

-He said... He said it wasn't so terrible. And he was right, but it wasn't time yet. I'm not afraid to die. I know we have to. It's just... It wasn't time yet.

-What did he say?

-That I didn't get to decide.

Sleep's face hardened and he reclined in his sit, his face disappearing in the darkness of the room. Steve shrugged, pushing back the covers off of him. Dream had climbed down his legs and was turning his back to them, nesting against Bucky, already going back to sleep.

-He wasn't angry. He was... He told me about snakes.

-Snakes?

-How their eyes are always closed. I don't know. I didn't feel anything. It was peaceful.

-It won't stay that way.

-I think... I think most people would have gone the other way.

-What do you mean?

-Instead of bringing the other back to life, they would have died themselves.

He heard Sleep move, but didn't look in his direction. He was tired. So tired. His body felt heavy and he couldn't summon the will to move his limbs. Bucky was next to him, always next to him, always sleeping.

 

They didn't leave his side for the next few days. Even Envy came back, his huge frame encased in the small armchair he had dragged to the bedroom. He had huge, watery eyes, and they kept trailing on Bucky's face. Nothing had changed. He was still breathing through parched lips and Steve was still biting his cracked nails, obsessively watching over him, until the wait was worst than anything Death could have thrown their way. It was anger then, clawing at him. Anger and despair because they didn't deserve that. So he took to smashing dishes in the kitchen, under Sleep's worried gaze.

That's why he didn't hear anything when something finally happened, not until Envy came crashing through the door, falling in a lump on the floor. Steve had raised his arm over his head, a white plate grasped in his hand. He still had it when he jumped over Envy, running to the small living room. Sleep was sited at the table, body limp, his head resting on his arms on top of the wooden table, as if in slumber. Nimble fingers were playing with a strand of his hair and it was Death, when Steve looked up, it was Death, who smiled at him and beckoned him closer, before resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Steve didn't move, and his knuckles whitened against the plate he was still holding.

Death kept smiling and running his hand in Sleep's hair, lazily. Steve looked around for Dream but he was nowhere to be seen.

-What... what did you...

-Nothing yet. Well, excluding Envy and my brother here, but I didn't want them to meddle. You see, I've been thinking.

The fingers withdrew from the dark hair and Death knitted both his hands under his chin, eyes boring holes into Steve's skull. A small knowing smile was playing on his lips, and Steve felt deeply uncomfortable.

-Please, take a sit. As I said, I've been thinking, and we have things to discuss.

The chair opposite Death moved on its own, and Steve sat down mechanically, eyes caste low.

-You see, everybody desires things. A little girl I met yesterday wanted her cat to speak. Her father, him, wanted to smoke in his bed, and that's why everything went up in smoke.

Steve glanced at Death, not sure if he was joking or not. His tone was equal.

-I am not joking, those things really do happen. Anyway, everybody desires things. You desire your lover back, and for some reasons, Sleep does too, since he helped you. Do you see where I'm going?

Steve raised his head, eyes straining on Sleep's motionless form before settling on Death's face. He hadn't noticed at first, the different colors of his eyes. On dark as night, the other grey-ish, almost colorless.

-You desire something too.

-Yes! You are following. Well, I was thinking, maybe I can trade your desire for mine.

-What do you want?

Death's smile grew bigger, crinkling his eyes in half-moons. It was a bit unsettling.

-Well, not so fast. You see, what I want is not so easily given. It all comes down to what price do you value your lover's life at.

-What do you want?

-The noblest thing of all. Freedom.

Steve reclined is his sit, slightly taken-aback. Death's smile didn't falter, his eyes didn't tear from his face.

-Freedom? How can I give you that?

-Quite easily, actually. You can kill me.

-Kill you? What?

Death outright laughed. Steve ears were buzzing. This didn't felt quite real enough.

-But Death cannot die.

-Oh well, no, it can't. It's a concept, a force. But, you see, I am not. So, if I disappear, because, say, someone tells someone else what to do for that to happen, this concept will find a way to actualize itself again. Namely, probably, it will lash onto this someone else.

-Can that actually happen?

-Anything can happen. In dreams. I thought you understood that.

It hit Steve, then, the meaning of Death's words.

-You want me to become you. To become Death.

Death stood up brusquely, pointing a bony finger at him.

-Yes! Yes, that's it. It's not so terrible. _There are wind-chimes and the smell of lemons..._

 

_...some days_

_it rains, but more often the air is dry_

_and sweet._

They were all here again. In the flatland beneath the mountains, under the violet sky. Sleep and Dream and Life and Death, who was crouched next to the same pile of bones the black snake had come slithering from. Death was rummaging in the pile, discarding brittle animal bones and small children skulls, as if he was looking for something. He was. Next to the pile, half a skeleton was neatly laid-out in a fresh grave. The head was the grinning skull that used to sat on top of the pile, and Death kept adding to it. Small phalanges, the two halves of a broken femur, smooth patellas and cracked ribs, under which the black snake was coiled, almost invisible against the dry earth.

Steve looked at Sleep, who shook his head, hollow eyes reflecting no light. Dread came creeping from the pit of his stomach, and he tried to pretend his decision was the right one. They all looked on in silence at Death, diligently assembling his morbid puzzle. He was done too soon, Steve thought, and he knew what should happen now. The grinning skeleton was covered with earth and Death laid on the grave, a smile on his lips, palms digging into the loose soil. Life sat crossed-leg next to him, washing the same knife in the same basin. But no one was there to sing this time, and Life had chosen the appearance of a young boy, dirty blond hair falling in front of his eyes, torn shirt covering emaciated shoulders and a protruding stomach. The ritual was the same. Life cut into Death's body, bleeding him first, and then neatly laying out each organs on the wet earth. But he signaled Steve then, who sat next to him, and Steve knew. He chose the heart first. Bit into in, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He had to chew the rubbery meat for a long time before being able to swallow anything. The heart, then the lungs, the liver, the stomach. The brain he kept for last; Life had smashed Death's head in and he had to scoop the matter off the earth with both hands. When nothing was left, they watched the mangled body rot into nothingness.

Steve didn't feel any different, but then again, it wasn't really over. The grave was unearthed, and it was empty, as it should have been. So Steve took up the knife, and got to work on himself. The legs first, because it seemed the most practical. Scraping everything off the white of his bones, and throwing them into the discarded pile. It would be his own skull then, sitting atop the stack, grinning at nothing. He thought he was ready.

 

When Bucky opened his eyes, it seemed as if he had slept for a thousand years. His body felt almost foreign to him, like it wasn't his own heart beating in his chest. Slowly, he grew accustomed to the dark room, and noticed the figure hunched in an armchair next to the bed. He couldn't quite focus on his features, as though someone had blurred out his face. Focusing on where the eyes should be helped a bit. One was blue as sky, the other grey-ish, almost colorless. He moved around a bit, rustling the covers, and that seemed to spark life in the man sitting next to him.

-You're awake?

The voice was awfully familiar. But it seemed so far away.

-I guess so? What happened?

-You were sick for a long time. But it is alright now. We fixed you.

-Who's we?

-It's a long story. How do you feel?

-Not quite myself?

He was sitting up now, naked back resting on the cool wall.

-I feel confused. I can't quite recall anything.

-It happens. But it will come back. You were gone for a long time.

He nodded, absentmindedly smoothing the covers on his thighs. There was a hole in his brain, and the voice almost filled it. But something wasn't quite right.

-Can I touch you?

-If you want.

His voice was colder than it should have been. It used to be warm, with a laugh bursting out as if it was kept inside for too long. The man sat on the bed and Bucky took his arm, tugging at it until they were both laying down, facing each other.

-You changed.

-You already remember?

-The feelings. What it should be like. What happened?

-It's a long story. Is it bad if I changed?

-I don't know. I don't think it really matters. I feel like I changed, too.

-You were sick for a long time.

-Not anymore, though.

-No. You died...

They spoke for a long time. He fell asleep again. The other one didn't. He didn't sleep anymore. So he just laid there, watching, listening. He could hear much, now. And he saw everything.

The brown eyes opened again after a while. He started talking again, as if he had never stopped.

-How is it?

-It's not so terrible. Not like you imagine.

A giggle.

-Are there windchimes, and the smell of lemons?

-Yes. And some days it rains, but more often the air is dry and sweet.

-Do you listen to the voices singing and fighting?

-Yes. I sit beneath the staircase, and I listen.

-Do you like it?

-The singing, yes. Not so much the fighting.

He was closer now, head tucked beneath the man's chin, an arm draped over his waist. The had both slid back under the covers.

-I shall love you, I think.

-Do you want to?

A sharp intake of breath, and he got closer still.

-I think I already do. I think I never really stopped. It feels right when I say it, "I love you".

-It does, doesn't it.

No answer.

-Are you asleep again?

-I thought you knew everything.

-It felt right just asking.

-I'm not, but I'm tired.

-Well, you were dead for a while. Life takes its toll.

-Will you stay if I fall asleep?

-Yes.

-Don't you need to be somewhere?

-No. I just need to be.

-Good. I don't want to wake-up alone. I was scared, I think, being dead.

-It's alright. I will stay.

-You know, you do smell like lemons. I will sleep now. 

-Goodnight. I love you.

-I know. Me too.

 

 

 _Death comes to me again, a girl_  
in a cotton slip, barefoot, giggling.  
It's not so terrible she tells me,  
not like you think, all darkness  
and silence. There are windchimes  
and the smell of lemons, some days  
it rains, but more often the air is dry  
and sweet. I sit beneath the staircase  
built from hair and bone and listen  
to the voices of the living. I like it,  
she says, shaking the dust from her hair,  
especially when they fight, and when they sing. 

_-Dorianne Laux_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death was supposed to be all scary but he ended up being quite a laid-back guy/whatever.  
> Yeah. I'm not sure about how it ended. Oh well.


End file.
